


Sitting in the Rain

by saltyynoodles



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr (sir), Angst, Burr really did have a sucky life, Burr's reflecting on his sad life, Gen, Ignoring the fact Burr had 2 illegitimate children, Literally everyone's dead, One Shot, Poor Burr, Technically historically accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyynoodles/pseuds/saltyynoodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe Aaron was thinking of this in the wrong way— he’d always thought of black and white, right and wrong, left and right— it was what had made him such a precise and astute lawyer. Maybe if he had done something different, life would have been better"</p><p>Or, Aaron Burr is having a 3/4ths quarter life crisis while standing (sitting?) in the rain. Cue the most teenage angst-y scene for Burr since "Wait for It".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sitting in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello hello all! My first post here, based off of the lovely Hamilton Prompts on Tumblr! (http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/) Thanks guys for the inspiration.
> 
> Prompt: “We laugh and we cry and we break and we make our mistakes". Can someone please write an instance of Aaron experiencing each of these?
> 
> >> Disclaimer: I own nothing :)

**Sitting in the Rain**

 

Aaron often contemplates his life when he’s alone— even more so when he isn’t. Perhaps it’s something that was always a part of him— the way he can’t help but live by his “talk less, smile more” motto. Maybe it’s something he never used to have, that he adapts in order to survive. Either way, Aaron’s always been on the quiet side, which has caused ridicule from his ‘peers’. But then again, sometimes he’s not quiet— just like his opinions, Aaron’s very nature changes directions at the drop of a hat.

His fingers trace over the two tombstones, one old and weathered, the other pearly and new. One is full, the other empty— both symbolize the loves of Aaron’s life.

He feels world weary now, just turned 57, seemingly ancient compared to all his comrades and acquaintances that have passed. Even the General, so stoic and unmovable in all his grandeur, passed sixteen years after the war. It makes Aaron’s bones ache more to think that he’s lived through one war, possibly a second (as the dolt president has started a war, this time against England  _ and _ France). One war is enough for a man— two is practically the grave calling to him.

Aaron’s attention returns to the tombstones— when he perishes he hopes to be buried beside them. Slightly religious, Aaron distinctly hopes that that will help guide him to them in the next life— if there is one.

After all, no one has ever made Aaron smile and laugh like they have. 

Throughout all of Aaron’s life of living in the daunting shadows of his parents, he never truly laughed. Alexander’s remarks and essays of verbal retorts were irritating and draining to listen to, Washington was far too grim and commanding to ever get close to, even his fellow officers only acknowledged Aaron with a nod or a clipped response, never seeming to take him seriously despite his rank of Colonel. No, there was nobody who made Aaron simply smile as  _ himself _ . 

At least, that was what he’d thought before the summer of 1778. The five day trip down the Hudson River had changed Aaron Burr forever. The dreaded sensation of feeling like a destined single man for life had for once left Aaron as he’d shook hands and exchanged conversations with this intriguing woman. The feeling had promptly returned once Aaron had learned of the enchanting woman’s, Theodosia, marriage.

Truly the Gods despised Aaron Burr.

But he’d kept at it, wrote to Theodosia constantly, occasionally met her behind her British husband’s back. Every time he left to go, Aaron had a moment of regret, his instinctive reaction of  _ no _ , but whenever he looked into those sparkling eyes that looked as if stars were captured within, the only word in Aaron’s mind was  _ yes _ . She made him feel fearless, brave, and impulsive. 

Sometimes Aaron wonders if that’s how Alexander felt— as if there were fire in his veins. No wonder the man wrote as if it were his oxygen.

Their life together was like a fit of laughter— adrenaline inducing and exhilarating while it lasted, but gone all too soon. Aaron’s eyes burn and it takes a moment to realize that he’s crying. He finds it facetiously amusing that he’s never able to automatically recognize that his tear— he’s certainly done it enough to know. If Aaron’s life was biographized it would most certainly be a tragedy.

Even when he was two years old, barely conscious, his parents had passed. A baby Aaron had instantly begun wailing. Perhaps he had sensed the fading warmth from his poor, widowed mother— was a parental bond truly that strong? Never having had the experience of a father or a mother, Aaron can’t determine that. Even his daughter had died before him— far before her time.  _ A parent should not outlive his child _ . 

When that bleak January morning had come with the terribly light letter with just one page of parchment in it, Aaron had opened it in apprehension, knowing,  _ knowing _ , something had happened. His misgivings had proven true and his daughter— the remaining light in his life— had flickered out. Aaron had just gotten back from traveling Europe, but no lingering awe from the aristocratic societies could stop the depressing haze that overcame him at news of his daughter’s death.

A thundering rain begins to pour down, describing Aaron’s emotions surprisingly accurately. A rational voice in his head urges him to leave the graves— he’ll ruin his clothes by the way he was kneeling in the dirt, soon to be mud. But he can’t. He won’t. He’d spent so much time in politics and law . . . . There’s a deep aching in Aaron—  _ what sort of father was I? _

Aaron had always quietly judged Alexander for being such a ruthless worker, abandoning family time for opportunity. But in the end . . .

Alexander may have been shot with bullets, but it was Aaron who felt a gnawing emptiness inside. Maybe he’d  _ always _ been empty, from the moment his father passed away as a baby. So empty, a young Aaron filled himself with books and knowledge. Aaron recalls when Theodosia had gotten angry at him— more energy than she’d ever mustered up since her mother’s death— and had broken a vanity mirror Aaron had gotten for her.

He feels like that mirror, pieces littering the earth around him.

All his life, he’d tried his best to be the perfect son to the parents he never had. Perhaps that’s always what it would’ve took to fix him— a pat on the back from a father he never knew, a warm smile from a gone mother, urging him to not stay up so late studying. Or  _ maybe _ Aaron was thinking of this in the wrong way— he’d always thought of black and white, right and wrong, left and right— it was what had made him such a precise and astute lawyer. Maybe if he had done something different, life would have been better.

He would have never pulled that trigger on his tentative friend.

He would have left the Senate and taken care of his wife, would have worked harder to find a physician to  _ save  _ her.

He would have never let his daughter on that ship.

Would he . . . ?

Aaron looks down at his hands, his calloused hands that are weathered like his wife’s grave. Hands covered in blood and ink, hands that had done so many regrettable things, Aaron could scarcely believe they were  _ his _ . Did he truly know himself that well? It had always been others that hyper-analyzed him so well,  _ understood _ him like he could never.

_ I’ve made so many mistakes I hardly know what way to go. _

Sighing, Aaron stood up, dislodging a wave of rain onto the ground. He would make his way through this. If there was one thing Aaron Burr is good at, it’s not dying.

Even if he wants to.


End file.
